Pallbearing

  “I don’t know, it’s sort of just kids from school.”

  “Give me a call before to let me know?”

  “I’ll be over at Allison’s. But I’ll try.”

  She told him to drop her off a couple blocks away from the school so her teachers wouldn’t see her getting out of his van. He leaned over for a kiss that landed on her cheek and tried to get his hand back on her thigh. She slipped out the door and said, “I got to get to class.”

  * * *

  Harold’s mom banged her foot on the floor above him and shouted, “Har-reee. Phone! Har-reee. Phone!”

  He picked up and shouted at the ceiling, “I got it, Mom.”

  “Har-reee. Phone.” She banged the floor again.

  “Mom! I got it.”

  He spoke into the phone. “Maggie?”

  She said, “It’s so weird you have a landline.”

  And from upstairs, “Har-reee,” with more banging.

  “I’ve got it!”

  Then his mom’s voice, on the phone now, asked, “Har-reee. You there?”

  He said into the phone, “Yes, Mom, thank you.”

  “You need to cut the lawn.”

  “I will, Mom, tomorrow. Bye.”

  “Bye Har-reee.”

  “Hello?”

  Maggie said, “Allison’s sister got called in to work. Would you mind booting for us?”

  “Well, I sort of made other plans when I found out you weren’t free.”

  “Oh, that’s fine, we can ask someone in front of the liquor store.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll come down.”

  Harold drove down to the coffee shop. Maggie, Allison, and a few of the guys from their class were sitting around the patio. Harold got out of his van and Allison said, “Hi, Har-reee!”

  “Yeah, hi.”

  “You get that lawn mowed?”

  Maggie hit Allison’s shoulder and told her to shut up and Allison laughed.

  There was nowhere for Harold to sit. He grabbed a chair from inside and hovered with it, waiting for Allison to shift over and make room for him. Matt, one of the guy friends, asked everyone to move down for Harold. He dropped his chair in and said, “Thanks.”

  Then the guys were talking about a show their band had booked at the community centre and how they had a lead on a place they could play in the city.

  Harold said, “Yeah, well my band is thinking about going on tour again pretty quick. You can only play the George and Dragon so many times, you know?”

  Allison asked, “Where was that last tour to again, Harry?”

  “We went down the coast to Oregon.”

  Matt said, “Cool, man.”

  And Allison said, “Yeah, cool. When was that again?”

  Before Harold could answer, Maggie said, “Why don’t we go get the drinks.”

  Maggie and Allison each gave Harold a ten for some cider and the guys pooled together to come up with enough for a case and a mickey of whisky. Harold got up. When no one else did, he said to Maggie, “You coming?”

  Allison said, “We’re still waiting for a couple of people, so we got to stay here.”

  Harold tried to be cool but made it clear he wasn’t going to run their errand alone. Matt volunteered to go along. There was really no way for Harold to say no.

  They drove the three blocks to the liquor store. Harold turned up the stereo and Matt asked him what they were listening to. Harold told him and he said, “Cool, old school.” And then said it sounded like some band Harold had never heard of.

  “More like those guys sound like this.”

  Back at the coffee shop, Harold asked them what the deal was with the party. Matt said, “Oh, it’s just this kid whose folks are out of town.”

  And Allison said, “But it’s going to be small, just friends. The neighbours ratted on him last time.”

  “But you should totally come along,” Matt said.

  And Allison said, “Isn’t it weird for you to go to a high-school party?”

  Maggie kept quiet and Harold eventually said, “Well, there’s a show I might check out later tonight anyways.”

  One of the other guys started talking about a show in the city he’d gotten a fake ID for. Matt snuck some whisky into his coffee and everyone started talking about bands Harold didn’t know. Harold tried to get Maggie’s attention but she kept looking intently at whoever was talking. After a while, Matt said they should all go to the park and have a few pre-party drinks there. Harold jumped in and said, “There’s always cops checking the park, we should go for a drive around the lake.”

  Allison wasn’t into that, but Matt and the other guys were, so they all ended up in the van, heading out of town on the logging road that led to the far end of the lake. Harold drove them to one of the little beaches and parked.

  By the time Harold got a beer from the back of his van, all the guys were sitting on a log near the beach and Maggie and Allison were on a boulder beside them. The only spot left was right on the end of the log. Harold sat and held his hand out to Maggie, then let it drop.

  Someone brought out some weed and passed it around; Matt took a swig of the whisky. Maggie and Allison passed their cider back and forth. Harold got up and stood behind Maggie. He put his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him and smiled. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. Allison said, “Come pee with me,” and she and Maggie went off to the woods.

  Harold sat on their rock and Matt came over and sat beside him. He took another sip of whisky. Harold said, “Watch it with that.”

  Matt said, “It’s cool, man. I heard Keith Jones from the Who used to drink three bottles a day.”

  “That’s Keith Moon. Moon the Loon. And you know he died, right?”

  “Yeah. He drove his car into a swimming pool.”

  “He did do that, but I don’t think that’s how he died.”

  “Want some?”

  Harold shrugged and took a shot. One of the other guys said that his older brother went to school with Harold and used to really like his band back in the day. He asked, “You guys got any shows coming up?”

  “We’re sort of looking for a new guitarist these days. Zach quit on us.”

  “Oh yeah, man,” Matt said. “Zach’s my guitar teacher. He knows, like, every Eagles song.”

  “Yeah, that’s the reason we’re looking for a new guitarist.”

  Maggie and Allison returned from the woods. They sat on the log with the guys and Maggie started laughing at something one of them said.

  They finished their drinks and when Harold got back from the van with another Allison said, “We should get going.”

  “I just opened this,” Harold said.

  “We’ve got to get to the party.”

  Harold wanted to argue but then everyone else agreed. He got in the van and Matt got into the passenger seat; the girls sat in the back. Harold kept an eye on their whispering while Matt told Harold about how he was trying to learn the guitar solo from “Comfortably Numb” and asked him questions about gear.

  They pulled up in front of a house with kids all over the lawn. Allison said, “Thanks, Dad” and jumped out the side door with the guys.

  Harold said, “Hold on, Maggie. Can we talk a minute?” Allison stopped and Harold added, “Alone.” Allison waited for Maggie to say it was okay before she left. Harold turned around in the driver’s seat and said to Maggie, who was still in the very back bench seat, “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I feel like you don’t want me here.”

  Maggie looked out the window. She said, “Well, you’re not really invited.”

  “No, I mean at all. Like you only want me to drive you around and pick things up for you.” She didn’t say anything, just stared out the window and bit her lip
. He kept on, “It makes me feel used.” He turned around and watched her in the rear-view mirror. She was still looking at the house. He said, “Why don’t you just go.”

  She got out of the van and he did too, meeting her around the side. He said, “Look, I know your friends don’t get us. They think it’s weird. But it’s okay, you know. You’re a lot more mature than any of them.”

  He put his arm around her and walked toward the house. When they got to the front door, he put a hand on each of her cheeks and pulled her face into his. She opened her mouth a little bit, and he let a hand fall down to her chest. He stepped back and said, “Look, have a good time, okay.”

  Harold watched her go into the house. Matt came out. He said, “Hey man, you decided to come in. Cool.”

  “I was just going to head out.”

  “You should hang out, man. No one will care.”

  They went into the kitchen. Matt opened up cabinets until he found a bottle of vodka. He drank from it and asked Harold if he wanted any. Harold didn’t see why not. He took a long drink.

  Later, they were standing beside the stereo and Matt was saying that all the kids at his school listened to the same vapid, commercial bullshit and that people like him and Harold knew what music should sound like. Harold was mostly looking around the room for Maggie. Someone came over and asked Harold if he was a cop. Matt laughed and said, “No man. This is Harold. He’s cool.” Harold took another drink of vodka.

  Then they were in the backyard and Harold was telling Matt about how much he liked Maggie and how he knew that she felt the same, but he always felt like Allison wanted him to go away probably because she was jealous or something. Matt was nodding and agreeing and telling Harold how rad he was and then Allison and Maggie came out the back door. Allison said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Harold said, “Matt invited me in.”

  “Yeah. Harold’s my boy.” Matt slapped Harold on the back. Harold nodded.

  “Maggie doesn’t want you here.”

  Harold asked her, “Is that true?”

  Matt said, “You guys are wrong about Harold, he’s cool!”

  “Wrong about me?”

  Allison said, “He means Maggie thinks you’re a creep.”

  “She wouldn’t say that.”

  “Tell him, Maggie.”

  When Maggie didn’t say anything, Allison said, “She doesn’t want to see you anymore.”

  “Is that true?”

  “No, it’s just . . .”

  She didn’t finish the sentence or look at him, but everyone else was looking and listening. Harold said, “Come on, let’s talk,” and took her hand. He pulled her through the party and out the front door. She didn’t resist much.

  When they were past the last people on the lawn, near Harold’s van, he spun around and grabbed her shoulders. “Is it true?”

  And then Allison was there. She pushed Harold and said, “Get off her.”

  Harold ignored her. He opened the sliding door of his van and told Maggie he wanted to talk to her in private, and said to Allison, “Leave us alone.”

  Allison said, “No fucking way she’s getting into your pervert van alone. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  Maggie was crying. Harold took a couple of steps toward her and said, “Come on, we can talk this out.”

  He reached out for her, but Allison got between them again. He said, “I just need one fucking minute without you here, could you please just fuck off.” Then, in a gentler voice to Maggie, “Come on.”

  Maggie finally looked at him. “No.”

  Allison said, “Told you.”

  Harold yelled, “Would you fuck off, you fucking cunt.”

  Allison punched Harold. She wound up way behind her back and followed through with all her weight. It was hard enough that Harold fell backward onto the ground. He sat there for a minute, then checked his nose for blood. Maggie pushed by Allison and asked if he was okay. He said, “I’m fine.” Then to Allison, “Real fucking mature.”

  She said, “Whatever, I’m sixteen.”

  Maggie helped Harold to his feet. He pulled her close and said, “I knew you cared” into her hair. Then he held her at arm’s length, looked into her eyes, and said, “I love you.”

  Maggie said, “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  Allison grabbed Maggie’s arm and began pulling her toward the house. Maggie looked back at Harold and whispered, “I’m sorry.” Allison smirked.

  Harold stood alone in the driveway and watched the door close behind them.

  Auction

  Norm could tell the old lady standing in front of the hall was going to be trouble; there was no reason for her to be hanging around so early otherwise. He parked near the entrance and then made a great show of pouring a coffee out of his Thermos, sipping it, taking his time. He hoped she’d come over to him. She just stared at the truck, her hands up near her neck, wringing a handkerchief that looked like it had seen a lot of use.

  Norm gave it a few minutes, then sighed and got out of the truck. He walked halfway to her and stopped, saying, “Viewing is at nine thirty, auction starts at ten. No early bids.”

  She took a few worried steps forward and said, “There’s a violin. It was my grandfather’s.” Norm held out his hands, palms up, showing her there was nothing he could do. She took a few more steps toward him and said, “Please . . .”

  When she got close enough, Norm slipped around her and jumped up the steps to the door. He stuck his key in and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s the way it goes. You’ve got to bid on it like everyone else.”

  She was coming up the stairs, her hands back up at her neck, wringing her handkerchief. She said, “He wanted me to have it.”

  Norm said, “Nine thirty,” and pulled the door shut.

  The auction was already set up and ready to go, but Norm liked to show up early and go over everything before any of his crew got there. There wasn’t much to do. He mostly just walked the rows of tables that were covered with everything from office supplies to collectibles, straightening and rearranging things that didn’t need it. The stage at the far end of the hall was filled with furniture; he tilted some chairs to better catch the light.

  It was a good collection. Sven, the executor of the estate, had told Norm that his deceased brother had owned a general store in town for decades and had held on to anything that didn’t sell — toys, games and collectibles, and a whole lot of junk besides. On top of that, his brother had lived in the house the family had bought when they came over back in the 1880s. Sven told Norm a long story about the aristocracy and angry peasants — the upshot of which was that the house had a lot of antiques from the old country. It was the sort of estate Norm only saw every few years: lots of genuine antiques and collectibles to go with the everyday home things. He expected a good turnout, even not counting the family, who, Sven had warned him, were going to turn up in force.

  It seemed the family couldn’t agree on how to divide everything; there had been no will and the relatives held mixed opinions on who had been promised what. Adding to the confusion, Sven said that, for as long as he could remember, everyone in the family had used the house as storage — anything anyone didn’t want to keep but didn’t want to throw away ended up there. Tracing what was whose among the four generations of children and uncles and cousins was almost impossible. Sven had spent a couple of weeks trying to sort it all out before he said to hell with the family — all trying to curry favour and politic for their own needs — and put everything up for auction. The family could bid on what they wanted, the rest would go to dealers, and he’d split the money earned amongst all the heirs — about thirty ways, he figured.

  The lock clicked and the door swung open. Three of Norm’s helpers came in, followed by Nancy, who handled the cash. She was trying to politely close the door while saying,
“It will be there, don’t worry. We’re very careful with everything.” She closed the door and saw Norm standing among the tables. “Did you know there’s already someone out there?”

  Norm said, “May have seen her. Something about a violin?”

  Nancy laughed. “It’s going to be one of those days?”

  “I think so.”

  Nancy got the registration table set up with her laptop and cashbox while the guys checked Norm’s microphone and the speaker set-up and made themselves look busy straightening the lots Norm had just inspected.

  At nine thirty sharp, Norm opened the doors.

  Before he could get the wedge under it, the violin woman was through the door. She gave Norm a reproachful look and then practically ran up and down the aisles, her head swivelling from side to side. An older gentleman Norm took for her husband followed her; he must have been hiding in the car when Norm pulled in. He nodded to Norm and followed his wife up to the stage, where she’d found the violin leaning up against an armoire. She held it close to her chest, eyes closed and sobbing. Her husband patted her shoulder, then went to the concession to get a coffee.

  Norm greeted his regulars as they came in — the local antique and junk store owners, some private dealers — and he was pleased to see some of the bigger dealers from the city he didn’t know as well; evidently word had got out. That was good. There were also some obvious looky-loos from the city hoping to experience a genuine country auction. And then Norm saw the overdressed folks he knew were the family. Families always wore their best, thinking an estate auction was some sort of continuation of the funeral. The regulars all wore jeans.

  Norm watched as the ancient Sven trundled in guided by a cane, his hunch lost in a suit that was several sizes too big. He came straight to Norm and started in right away. “I suppose Hilde’s been giving you a hard time?” He nodded to the woman cradling the violin. Norm grunted noncommittally. Sven continued: “She’s okay, really. Just had a hard time in life, you know, never had much in the way of money, never a fair shake.” He considered a moment. “Brought some of it on herself, I hate to say. She’s always been quick to take offence, to think the world was out to get her.” Norm let that hang in the air; he tried to stay out of family business. He was just there to sell.